By the time I finished putting away my easel and the portrait of Imari that I'd started, it was past five-thirty. I still had to straighten up the art room, arranging the desks and chairs that had been pushed out of the way for the Art Club. That took another ten minutes and I couldn't believe my bad luck as I finally left the classroom, locking the door behind me.
The one person who didn't want to be there, was the last person to leave. Me!
As I walked through the deserted school, I didn't see another living soul. The faculty office was open and the lights were on, however, so I knew I wasn't alone in the building. Probably the janitor was making his rounds or something. It didn't matter, except I felt very annoyed with Imari for wasting my time. This was her job anyway, locking the art room after every meeting, not mine. She wanted to be in charge, but she'd made up some excuse and...
I narrowed my eyes at the key locker I'd just opened. There were a lot of them there and the hook labeled "Art Room" was empty and waiting for the key in my hand, but something else caught my eye. At the very end, a key hung from a hook that wasn't labeled.
Unlike the others, which were silver and shiny with constant use, this key was made of dull brass and oddly shaped. A skeleton key?
I removed it from the hook and tried to read the wooden tag attached to the key ring. It was smooth, the words almost worn completely away, but I could still make them out: "Basement SR" -- Basement Storage Room.
The school was empty. I glanced over my shoulder, looking around the faculty office, but I was alone. This could be my chance to check out that mysterious storage room and put an end to Saeki and her stupid stories about magic and demons and ceremonies. What had she said? Nothing is a truth or lie until you see it with your own eyes.
Now I had a golden opportunity to lay those rumors to rest. I'd go down there and see for myself, maybe bring back a souvenir just for her. An old, dusty textbook would be the perfect gift, I thought. I'd even sign it for her.
Having made up my mind, I snatched the storage room key off its hook. I only hoped that whoever might still be around wouldn't catch me. I could get in trouble as the basement was off limits to students, and the storage room doubly so. My sister would kill me if I got expelled from school. She'd probably send me back to my parents!
I shuddered at the thought and almost changed my mind.
Visions of confronting Saeki with the truth proved stronger than my fear. What if I could convince her to give up those silly books and try something else for a change? Like going out with me, for example. Even if I proved her wrong, she might still be impressed with my intrepid search for the truth. Wasn't that her whole point? Saeki could hardly blame me if it turned out I was right and she was wrong.
Or if not her, perhaps Ito or Murai might be interested in going out with the man who solved the mystery of the storage room. Well, Ito was kind of a bitch. She looked cute, but her attitude was even more annoying than Imari's. On the other hand, Murai would be a lot of fun to have sex with, but she was such an airhead. I'd need another girlfriend just to have someone intelligent to talk to afterward.
No, Saeki was the one I really wanted. She was beautiful, smart, and very independent, which made her the most difficult girl to get. Aside from the utterly unobtainable Shiraki, I mean. At least I stood a chance with Saeki, but only if I found a way past her fixation with magic and that meant I had to find some proof.
Making my way towards the basement stairs, I wished Ito and Saeki were around to see me unlock the door to their so-called Secret Room. Ito would have to eat sour grapes and Saeki would thank me for showing her the truth. Unfortunately, they belonged to the girl's Yoga Club, which met in the mornings before school. There's no way they'd still be here at this hour.
Well, they'll probably insist on seeing for themselves anyway, I thought. Now that I knew where the key was kept, I could get it anytime I wanted. The first time, it would probably be better if I went alone anyway. I didn't expect to find anything but junk down there, but what if there really was some truth to the rumors? Six students had died down there while performing a black magic ceremony, or so the rumors claimed. Did I want to go down there? Did I want to know the truth? I looked around the empty school and the silence was oppressive. The windows were already turning a dreadful shade of grey as night crept closer.
Of course I had to go. This was only the first door anyway and it wasn't locked. Like most students, I'd been inside the basement before to help a teacher retrieve books or supplies for our classes. It was the storage room beneath the basement that frightened everyone. I had to admit that being alone in the basement did feel creepy, but only until I turned on the lights. The place looked completely ordinary, like any other basement in any other school, and I crossed it easily to find my real goal.
"OFF LIMITS"
A sign had been posted at the top of the stairs leading to the basement storage room. Someone had played a joke, drawing on the concrete floor a circle with a pentagram inside. Or not drawn, I realized, but gouged into the cement and probably a long time ago, judging by the smooth edges and thick dust. It had been placed where one would have to step over it to use the stairs and reach the room below.
That gave me pause as I stared into the well of blackness beneath me. The basement lights behind me illuminated only the first few steps and the narrow stairs disappeared quickly into the shadows. I felt something cold as well. A thin draft blew upward from the basement, washing over my bare hands, neck, and face.
Chiding myself for being so foolish, I spoiled the gloom with a derisive chuckle. I saw a switch on the wall beside me and flipped it on. The resulting light seemed extremely weak and not to my liking at all. Even if nobody used this place, they could at least install some fluorescent lights. Before me, the steep staircase led to a heavy steel door at the bottom. Stepping over the pentagram, I descended that ominous hole with the key clutched tightly in one hand, feeling my way against the wall with the other.
I stepped gingerly, listening to the eerie sound of my footsteps echoing in that closed-off, cramped space. The air grew noticeably colder and I noticed a dampness that seemed to reach all the way down to my bones. Why anyone would want to put a basement under a basement was beyond me. Maybe it had been a bomb shelter during World War II or something? There were still a few of those around, usually forgotten until they started digging a new subway and broke through an unexpected wall. Whatever the reason, the door looked serious enough. It was made of steel and rusted around the edges, especially the hinges. I wondered if it would even open.
The door had graffiti on it, old and smudged and barely legible in the dim light. Among the cryptic symbols and diagrams, there were words written in Latin, but I'd never paid much attention in that class. I wished Yukiko was with me. She had a talent for languages, speaking not only Japanese and English, but Latin and French as well. After she graduated from the university, she wanted to find a job as a translator. I just wanted to get this over with. The place was kind of freaking me out.
"So this is the secret room," I muttered aloud, just to hear the sound of a human voice, even my own. They should have painted the door pink or red. But no, that would have been really creepy.
The chill and damp made me shiver. I wished I'd brought a jacket, but all I had was my mostly empty book bag over my shoulder. I figured I'd just have a quick look and get out. The key slid into the keyhole easily, a perfect fit. Turning the key to the right, the bolt sounded like a gunshot in the silence. Now, I thought, nothing can stop me from learning the truth! From this moment on, the secret room will no longer be secret. I grasped the doorknob, twisting and pushing the heavy door open with a grunt.
"Grrrr!" I had to lean into it as the rusty hinges tried to resist. It felt almost like something pushed against me from the other side, but with a screech of metal the door swung slowly open.
Not all the way open, just enough so that I could peer into the room beyond. I wasn't frightened, but I had no idea what I might find in there either. Being alone kind of sucked. All I could see was an empty, black gulf devoid of light or warmth. The musty scent of dust and mold assaulted my nose and I closed my eyes, bracing for a sneeze that never arrived. The place smelled like a crypt, but even worse was that it felt like one too. I almost turned around right then and there.
Almost. "Time for a tour of the secret room," I joked, pushing the door open with another annoying screech. Between the rusted hinges and all the dust, it wasn't difficult to believe that no one had been down there for over a decade.
I couldn't see a thing as I shuffled forward, arms extended like a blind man trying to feel my way through the emptiness. I had the odd sensation that I was about to touch something, but I took a half-dozen hesitant steps without finding a wall or anything else. I drifted towards the left, reaching out for the wall that I knew had to be there. I needed to find a light switch or a fuse box. There had to be at least one light down there, I figured.
At last I felt the rough texture of concrete beneath my fingers. The room seemed to be made out of cinder blocks with much of the mortar between them crumbling away. There! I found a metal box and a switch, which I pushed upward with a sharp snapping sound.
Nothing happened. Click - Click - Click ...I tried a bunch of times.
"Shit." The room remained completely black. Maybe there were lights down there, but evidently there wasn't any electricity. Or maybe I was turning on and off something else altogether? I almost grinned as I imagined the school's outdoor lights flashing, but that wasn't helping me.
I started moving again, slapping at cobwebs as I followed the wall looking for another switch. A flashlight would have been handy and I wondered if I shouldn't find one and come back later. I'd probably have to go all the way home though, and it was already getting late. I had an old lighter in my bag, I remembered, but it didn't have enough fuel to produce much more than tiny, weak flame. I'd found and kept it for no particular reason. I reached into my book bag anyway, although the lighter would hardly be useful as a torch.
Leaving empty handed after all this trouble didn't appeal to me at all. Maybe if I flicked it fast enough, I could at least see something and...
Thump! "Whoa! Ouch! Dammit!"
I'd tripped over something on the floor, very nearly falling onto my face. Normally, I'm not that clumsy, but that particular day had been a real trip. My stupid pun made me grin as I bent my knees and felt around for whatever I'd kicked. It sounded metallic, half-rolling, more like skidding away from my foot. It seemed heavy as well, so it couldn't have gone too far.
It was definitely metal, cold to the touch as I found it with my fingers. A candlestick, I realized. A long one, a tall as me and bracing several candles on its spindly arms. My lighter sputtered to timid life and it wasn't easy getting the first candle lit. The dust and damp made even that simple task a frustrating chore. But soon enough I'd lit one and then three more candles. The fifth candle was missing, but I was just thankful that there wasn't a draft to make things even worse.
Suddenly I could see the place and it wasn't anything like I'd expected. There were no old text books rotting away in piles. No broken desks or forgotten supplies. Not even canned sardines or gas masks. Instead, I discovered something more closely resembling a temple. The rumors had been right! There were more of the tall candelabras around the room and I resisted the urge to light them all. Even the illusion of warmth would have been a comfort as I took in my surroundings.
Beneath the dust and mold that covered the floor, a large circle was unmistakable. It must have been painted on the cement. Everything else seemed to be arranged around its precise design. There were words written in Latin. Diagrams and symbols whose meaning I wouldn't dare try to guess. A cross seemed to divide the circle into sections. Around that cryptic design were other, smaller circles. The one nearest me had a triangle inside it, the others had different and equally meaningless designs. I seemed to recall seeing those before, printed on the back of Saeki's Tarot cards.
What had she called them? Talismans? I couldn't remember and it didn't matter, except to confirm my growing discomfort.
In the very center of the circle, a table had been arranged like an altar. That's the impression I had of it, probably because of the heavy cloth that hung over the table like a shroud. Behind that, against the far wall, some sort of shrine had been posed. Beneath another pentagram, I saw cups and candles, incense holders and other things unrecognizable. They were dusty and tarnished, but doubtless exactly as they'd been left twelve years before.
"What the hell is this?" I wondered aloud.
Everything seemed so bizarre, like a scene straight out of a low budget horror movie. But this wasn't fiction, and not a rumor anymore. I might have suspected a prank, a setting staged by some occult lover to fool unsuspecting victims, but no. This was all much too elaborate for a joke. Too serious to be anything but real. There had been a ceremony, just as Saeki and her friends insisted, and if they were right about that...
"Ah! Fuck!" I jerked backwards, stumbling over my own feet as I realized I'd been standing on a huge bloodstain.
The floor was darker in places, the mold perhaps thicker where it had feasted on the mortal remains of slaughter. They weren't shaped like bodies, those stains. They didn't look like anything, but just seeing them was like taking a Rorschach Test and everywhere I looked I saw the corpses of those girls who had died. I could see their dismembered limbs and headless torsos spraying blood across the floor. There were also stains on the walls and even the ceiling, and I fought to control my panic. They weren't really there. Nothing remained. The bodies had been taken away and the room sealed. I was alone.
"Yeah," I breathed, licking my lips. I nodded, slumping against the wall and a moment later sitting on the floor.
I didn't understand at all. Why hadn't this stuff been cleaned up? Someone had taken the bodies, but left everything else? They'd simply locked the room as if they could forget it ever happened. But who were "they" and why? What did it all mean? Everything should have been collected as evidence. Or at the very least, the school should have left no trace of the Magic Club and the ceremony's existence. Was there a reason the room had been left so intact? I shivered and looked around for an impossible explanation.
That's when I began to notice other things, like a long sword and several daggers scattered about. A tarnished chalice overturned near the alter had been filled with something not completely dissolved. A black ooze, the remains of a liquid apparently, had congealed around the cup like a puddle of tar. I turned my head in disgust and if not for that accident, I never would have noticed a cinderblock slightly ajar just inches from my nose. It was pure luck, but for good or bad I couldn't have known just then. I only wondered why a block of cement, when viewed from a certain angle, would be turned just enough to catch the eye.
The distraction proved welcome as I could focus my energy on something else. I pushed and pulled at the cinderblock and found it turned with surprising ease. Dust and dirt leaked from the edges. I wanted to sneeze again, but didn't. The block turned almost as if it had a pin through the center, revealing a dark hole behind it. Trying to maneuver the long candlestick closer and peer inside at the same time wasn't very practical. I had no choice but to reach in and feel around. I didn't want to, but as weird as it sounds, I didn't even consider not doing it. I felt a strange...urge.
Inside I found something like a square box wrapped in a white cloth. It felt firm, but not hard like wood or metal. I didn't know what it could be at first. My mind ran away from mundane answers, simply because the thing had been deliberately hidden. Someone hadn't wanted the object found and now I'd stumbled across it by pure chance. It felt pretty heavy too, and larger than I'd first believed. What could it be, I wondered.
As soon as I unwrapped the cloth, I felt almost stupid as the answer became obvious. A book tumbled loose, escaping my fingers, which were a little numb from the cold of digging through old mortar. The book fell onto the floor with a resounding whump! landing with its leather bound cover face-up. A large, black book with a six-pointed star and sword design, not embroidered, but embossed in silver, I thought. There was also a chain around it, likewise made of silver, and attached to the back cover. It appeared strange and almost tacky-looking, definitely not something you'd find in the local bookstore.
I thought it must be very old. The leather had worn through in places, and without evening opening it up, I could see the pages were ragged and uneven. It had stitching, not glue to hold the book to its binding. A part of me didn't want to touch it and I considered putting it back in its hiding place, but at the same time, I felt a strong desire to look inside.
Turning the pages, I only felt confused, even frightened. There were dark drawings of grotesque forms. The pages must have been hand-lettered, the penmanship not always the same. Some of the pages resembled each other, others looked as if they were torn from another book and sewn into this one. Different authors, I realized, and indeed, different languages as well. Latin, French, something else that I suspected to be Hebrew or some sort of Middle Eastern dialect. I even found some pages in English, but not like I'd learned in school. This was the Old English of Chaucer perhaps, or Spencer with the odd spelling and grammar common to a time 600 years before I'd been born.
Some of the pages were burned at the edges, most of them were stained as well. I saw symbols and diagrams everywhere. Of course, I couldn't read any of it. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to. I kept skimming through the pages, feeling the paper dry and cracking with age. It wasn't real paper, not even rice paper, but parchment. How old could the book be? Plainly it was about magic. I saw the same talismans inside the book that decorated the floor. Pentagrams and drawings of creatures that could only be called demons, or disfigured angels, some of them.
Most likely, the book had been used by the same girls who had conducted the ceremony in that room. The same one that had ended in blood and spawned all the rumors. Except they weren't rumors, even I had to admit that. I couldn't tell Saeki or the others, I decided. No way! It would only feed their egos and make me look like a fool for having questioned their insane beliefs. Insane? I held the book in my hands. Anyone could draw pictures on the floor. It didn't take magic to light candles and chant nonsense, but that ancient tome hadn't been created by some wacked out college girls.
This was serious! I wanted to know what the book was about. I'd opened up the room expecting to find nothing, but instead I felt as if I'd found a whole other world. Was I going crazy? Maybe this was how those girls had gotten started, only to end in a ritual bloodbath. I had to know. The book was mine now and even if I still didn't really believe in witchcraft or demons, I'd already been proven wrong once. The secret room existed, the Society that Saeki had spoken of had been real, and I needed to continue my search for the truth...But not down there!
I used the chain to bind the book shut and coiled the white cloth around it. My book bag was usually wafer thin, but after stuffing the black book inside it, my bag looked ready to burst at the seams. I covered my tracks as best as I could, fixing the cinderblock back into its hole. I couldn't do much about the footprints I'd left in the dust. I blew out the candles and left the candelabra near the door, remembering all too well the absolute dark of that unholy place. I retraced my steps, pulling the door shut with a screech and clang, turning the key to lock it with a sigh of relief.
If I had a choice, I decided, I'd never go into that room again. Unfortunately, I had a feeling deep in my gut that someday I might have to return. Through the basement and up the stairs, I reached the deserted hallway. There was nobody around to notice me or wonder where I'd been, what I'd been doing. If someone had been there, I would have lied, if only because the truth about what I'd seen would have sounded unbelievable. I didn't want to believe it myself and I had a secret now. How could I dispel rumors that were true?
"Oh! Minase, it's you," Miss Takashiro said, having just turned the corner ahead of me.
I resisted the urge to look back at the stairs, knowing it would have been a sure sign of my guilt. She made that easy enough and any other time I would have been more than happy to spend some time chatting with her, even if I knew it couldn't possibly lead to anything but a fantasy in the shower. I'd jerked off thinking of Miss Takashiro more than once, believe me.
She looked serious as always, but somewhat pink in her cheeks. A bit flushed maybe, as if she'd recently been exerting herself. Probably moving art supplies around, I thought, but taking in her toned body and lovely face, I couldn't help but imagine her exertions taking another form. She had a peculiar scent as well, I noticed. Sweat? Perhaps, or something sharper, sweeter with a ripe tang to tickle my taste buds. Yukiko smelled like that sometimes, or I should say her bedroom did. Had Miss Takashiro been masturbating at school?
As if reading my mind, her lips turned downward and I flinched away from her stare. What was I doing? I had the key to the storage room in my pocket, the ancient book in my bag, this was no time to be daydreaming!
"What are you still doing here?" she asked.
"I was uh, working on my painting," I said. "I promised Imari that I'd return the art room key for her."
"You were working this late?" She smiled and I felt as if she could see right through me. "Good. I told you Miss Imari would inspire you."
"I guess so," I agreed. Maybe she bought my lame excuse after all, I thought. If she didn't, and Miss Takashiro found out I'd stolen the storage room key, I'd be dead. That place was taboo even among the faculty!
"But, I stopped by the Art Room a little while ago and it was already locked," she said, giving me a confused expression.
"Uh, yeah." I cleared my throat and thought fast. "I started walking home and remembered I forgot to leave the key."
"I see."
"Because Imari always locks up, but not today, so..." I shrugged. "I'll put it back right now."
"I can put it away for you," she suggested. "I don't mind."
"No!" I said, too loudly. "I mean, Imari asked me and I'm the vice-president, so I should, um...be responsible, right? It's my job to put the key back."
"Hmmm..." Miss Takashiro had to smile at that.
Maybe she felt a little suspicious, but so long as she didn't know the Art Room key was where it belonged and that I was actually returning the storage room key, what could she prove? If Miss Takashiro discovered the truth and caught me with the key, I wondered if she'd spank me. Not that I was into that stuff, but she had that attitude. It could almost be kind of fun, except I was going to make sure she never found out what I'd been up to.
Before she could do something truly annoying, like insist on taking the key from me, we were interrupted by the vice-principal. He came around the corner from the same direction Miss Takashiro had just a moment ago. I thought the man looked like a monkey and his nickname among the students was Mister Chimpee due to his thick, bowed legs and hairy arms that seemed too long for his body. I'd heard some of my classmates, the female ones, complain about how he stared at them sometimes, but I'd only politely greeted him in the hallway every now and again.
"What's this?" he asked. "Are you meeting your students after school now, Miss Takashiro?"
That seemed an odd thing to say and she didn't reply, but only turned her face downward so I wouldn't see her cheeks turning red. It was too late for that; I'd immediately noticed the change in her countenance. In fact, Miss Takashiro's entire posture changed at the sound of the vice-principal's voice. He remained directly behind her, staring at me over her shoulder.
"No sir," I replied for both of us. "I was in the Art Room. Painting."
"Minase, isn't it?" he asked. "I remember your sister, Yukiko. She was a good student, one of my favorites. How is she these days?"
"She's fine, sir," I answered.
"And you were painting, eh?" His eyes darted towards Miss Takashiro. "Painting your teacher, I bet. This one could excite the brush of any student."
"I was painting my friend," I told him. "Imari."
Miss Takashiro didn't say a word, refusing to look at us as she stood still as a statue. The tension in her was palpable, reminding me of frightened cat ready to bolt at the first loud noise. I had no idea what was going on between them, but I distinctly felt caught in the middle of something. What if she had been playing with herself and the vice-principal knew? What if he'd even caught her doing it? The more nervous she became, the stronger her odor seemed to get and it became difficult to think about anything else.
"Imari," the vice-principal said, smiling. "I know exactly who you mean. I'd like to paint her myself. You know, I'm an avid enthusiast."
"Yes sir," I said, but I knew nothing about him at all.
"Remember, an artist mustn't merely observe his subject, he must exploit her," he said, staring at Miss Takashiro as he spoke. "If you want to find the truth hidden inside someone like your friend Imari, you have to be willing to open her up. Rape her if you have to, expose every secret she has and show them to the world."
I could only stare at the man. Had he actually suggested I rape another student? My best friend? My face reddened as Miss Takashiro shivered and her shoulders slumped. She was no longer tense, it seemed to me, but resigned. Humiliated, perhaps, and I could understand why.
"Isn't that right, Miss Takashiro?" the vice-principal asked. "Art requires sacrifice. Wouldn't you agree?"
When Miss Takashiro didn't answer, he grabbed her hand and jerked the woman to gasping life.
"I asked you a question," he said. "Answer it!"
"Yes," she whispered, offering him only the barest nod of her head.
"Yes...What?" he demanded. "Tell your student."
"The vice-principal is right, Minase," she said. "The subject must always submit to the artist."
"See? From the expert herself," he said, chuckling. "Your teacher knows what she's talking about. You should always listen to her."
"Yes sir." I stepped aside as they began walking away.
The vice-principal entered his office, which was nearby. Miss Takashiro continued on alone towards the faculty locker room. That's where the teachers kept their jackets and exchanged their shoes. I watched her ass stretching the red nylon of her skirt and contemplated the vice-principal's strange advice. For being almost 30 years old, Miss Takashiro looked seriously hot and the idea of raping her wasn't entirely unwelcome. Not that I'd ever do such a thing, and of course, he must have been speaking figuratively, but still...I reached down to adjust my straining cock.
She entered the locker room, glancing at me from thirty feet away before the door swung shut behind her. What did that mean? The look on her face had almost seemed inviting. Or more probably, I only wished to see something that wasn't there. Whatever the vice-principal had been trying to explain had obviously embarrassed Miss Takashiro, as it would any girl. Being exploited? Raped? No wonder so many of the female students thought Mister Chimpee was such a creep.
As I entered the faculty office, I was pleased to note that I was alone and quickly returned the storage room key to the unlabeled hook where I'd found it. I closed the key locker with a smug smile, knowing I was home free now. Only the book hanging off my shoulder provided any evidence at all against me and I was taking that home. It belonged to me and no one else. The previous owners were all dead anyway, weren't they? Nobody could even know the book existed and I only had to find a way to read it.
